Wars of Night
In this piece of furniture
Each night we fight a war.
You against your demons,
I against the murder of faith
Silk sheets are worms around your body –
You twist and turn
Whining in the dark,
I try to wash that grin away-
But they paint a new one on your pretty face.
With paint made of memories you’d rather forget,
With paint made of emotions you’d rather reject,
Black, cold paint.
Embedded in these sheets,
Guilt, memories, blood and tears
I embrace a shaking body, hulking, trembling-
Screaming out the pain and loss
And every night I am made believe-
You won’t make it through.
But as soon as the moon
Is hunted down and killed
Peace will roam in this piece of furniture.
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